


Memory

by Light7



Category: Hellsing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 22:50:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8120635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Light7/pseuds/Light7
Summary: Present and past, interconnected but not the same.





	

Memory

Disclaimer: Hellsing belongs people who are not me. I am making £0.00 out of this fic, it is written purely because I have a burning need to create. Although I would like to own Alucard . . . then he’d be mine. 

Rating: G

Authoress note: Present and past, interconnected but not the same.

For the month of September, I am going to upload a new Hellsing fic EVERY WEEK!

Why?

Because, due to the positive feedback received including an awesome review (4 out of 5 “I read through this story in one night – once I began, I didn’t want to stop.”) I have decided to enter my second novel, Amenti, into a second competition which means it is available for FREE for a bit longer.

I need to hit 100 requested copies for it to be considered, so I would really appreciate it if you would give the synopsis at the end of this fic a read and if it sounds like your cup of tea then help yourself to a free book courtesy of myself and Inkitt.

 

* \/ * /\ * \/ * /\ *

Memory was a tricky and deceitful creature. 

Alucard could remember events from centuries ago, so vividly that it was as if they had happened only moments ago. While other events that had happened that same day he could not recall. He could not, for example, remember what Walter had for breakfast that morning, but he could remember the roasting wild fowl he had eaten in his castle over 500 years ago. He remembered how it had smelt, roasting over coals, and how it would almost seem to melt on the tongue, the spices leaving a pleasant warm feeling in his stomach that lingered for hours after the meal. He could no longer remember the reason Integra’s father had locked him in that tiny room in the basement. But he could remember the way Abraham would run his fingers over his hair, the way one would a favoured pet, and how much the habit had irritated him, made him want to snap at the fingers but fear had stopped him, forced him to endure the unwanted ‘affection’.

Mostly however he thought he remembered odd things. He could recall smells, touches and flavours a lot more than he did events, for instance he could remember the warmth of Walter as the young boy had fallen against him and slept on one of the longer missions, but he could not truly remember the mission itself. He remembered the warmth and the surprise he felt at the casual touch from a human. 

Memories he lost could sometimes be found. He could go for years not being able to remember what Abraham had said to him upon his capture then a phrase uttered by Integra, or the smell of her cigars, would bring the forgotten memory rushing back with a force strong enough to make him waver. He was sure that it was something that just happened to him until Walter tried to set him straight, and explain to him that this was just the way the mind worked and it was not part of his insanity. 

It was happening a lot lately, although the trigger was far more amusing that the smell of cigars. 

Seras had been moaning for a long time that she missed her social life. He had ignored it as he did most things he found dull, but the problem had not gone away and Seras had gone on a mission of her own. She had managed to put together what she was calling a ‘staff’ night out and had squeaked at him for a while trying to get him to at least have a drink with her before they left. His answer had been uncomplimentary. But after an hour of strange whining music he had become curious and had wandered down the hall to her room and had put his head through the wall. 

The music was much louder on this side and he had hissed, instinctively hating the racket. The lights had been too bright as well, scented candles and perfume made the air thick and sickening, but before he could escape, his fledgling had squeaked happily at him and pulled his hair until he came fully through the wall. He was well aware that he was indulging her but then he saw no reason not to. She had ‘forced’ a purple concoction into his hand and bid him drink. He had sniffed it and dropped the glass into a shadow, the cocktail, apparently that was what it was, it had smelt like sugar and seaweed. 

He had continued to watch her getting ready for her ‘staff’ night out until she danced out the door. He could smell the men and the beer they were drinking from down in the basement and for a moment a stab of worry flared in him before it was ruthlessly squashed. The only thing he needs worry about was his fledgling getting to drunk and doing some damage either to a building or some poor drunkard who got too close; he certainly didn’t need to worry about her getting hurt. 

He spent the rest of the night deliberately not worrying about his fledgling and was not in the slightest bit relieved when he heard someone walk/fall into the basement. Said person smelt like perfume, beer, brandy, the strange purple drink and a little bit like his fledgling. He listened absently as she laughed at her own clumsiness, rolling his eyes at her foolish nature only to come to his feet when there was a louder crash and a cry of dismay and pain. 

Apparently booze, stilettos and dark stairs do not mix well, even if you are a vampire, a very, very drunk vampire. 

He found her at the foot of the basement stairs crying. She was not hurt but the alcohol in her system was overwhelming everything else. It was this sight that caused a long forgotten memory to resurface, watching her sitting on the floor crying quietly, brought an image of Elizabetha to his mind. She had wept many times, usually when he had left her to march on a campaign or a scouting mission that required his presence. He had done all he could think of to ease her loneliness, showering her with gifts, giving her hand maidens to ease the feeling of being alone, and when that didn’t work he tried pets. A small puppy had been her favoured companion when he was not able to keep her to himself. 

Seras heard him coming and looked up, wiping away tears quickly, her movements unfocused and slow. She held up one of her shoes, the heal had snapped. 

“You are going to be very ill tomorrow,” he said softly, still seeing Elizabatha in his fledgling’s snivels. 

“I know,” she said. “But it was fun till I fell.” He smiled at her, unable to help himself, and bent down. He lifted her from the stone floor. She did not object, her tears stopped and she blinked, wide eyes at him. He is gentle with her, setting her down on her bed and helping her out of the other shoe. She looks lost and so very small, just like Elizabetha. 

“She’s not her,” he says to himself on the way to the kitchen. “She is not Beta.” He knows this but he collects a blood bag and returns to Seras. She’s gotten changed in his absence, he gives her the blood and she makes a face. 

“Really?” she said. He glances at the oversized pyjamas and sighs. 

“You’ll thank me in the morning, when you’re throwing your guts up,” he said firmly. Seras pouts. “You can’t manage human food yet, what on earth possessed you to drink alcohol?” 

“Was fun,” Seras sat on her bed and yawned still not drinking the blood. 

“I’ll ask you again when you wake up,” he muttered. Seras set the blood down on the bedside table, looking at him as if she expected him to object. He doesn’t say anything, just watches her as she lies down, bold enough to put her head in his lap but blushing while she does so. He sits with her, silent and comfortable, one hand resting in her hair. Memories of frozen nights when thick blankets covered him and his wife, her body so warm and small against his. Her hair, long and soft under his fingers and the small contented sounds she would make as he petted her. Soft words of contentment, acceptance and love long forgotten come back to him but these he cannot share with Seras. But it doesn’t matter for Seras is smiling a wobbly drunken smile and purring at the gentle motion of his hand in her hair. 

End Fic  
Please review.

As said at the beginning of the fic I’ve entered my second novel Amenti into a second competition which means you can read it completely FREE!

AMENTI

An epic tale of mystery, murder, and monsters, told by Bobtail, who happens to be, among other things, a cat.

Bobtail is moving house, again. But amongst the usual worries of finding his litter tray and hoping the local store has his food, Bobtail quickly discovers his new home is harboring some dangerous secrets. Secrets that put his life in danger when they lead to Bobtail becoming the prime suspect for a recent stint of murders.

Only a day into his new home and Bobtail finds himself embroiled in a twisted plot that spans the centuries and will affect both man and cat alike.

www . inkitt . com /stories/thriller/77118?ref=v_953a2ed4-eda2-42d2-97b3-fd39ed852cd4


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